


Battle Under Trees

by silmarilz1701



Series: The Fëanoriel Chronicles [2]
Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle Under The Trees, Cranky Sindar, Eager Silvan Elves, Feanoriel Chronicles Series, Gen, Humor, Mirkwood, War of the Ring, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-17 17:37:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9335402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silmarilz1701/pseuds/silmarilz1701
Summary: Carmegil is just too old for this drama. But when the Elven King calls on his deceased father's retired guard captain, what's an elf to do but fight for Mirkwood in the War of the Ring?





	1. Chapter 1

_March 15, 3019_

Elves ran to and fro in the huge Undercroft of the Elven King's halls. The Undercroft held the armory, the forges, and the cellars. The alarm had been sounded far above; Dol Guldor's forces were marching north and east. The elves had to stand at last. The fierce Silvan warriors, experts with bows and skilled in arboreal combat, clasped on their light armor and grabbed their weapons.

But for one elf far above, all the clamor below was nothing but an annoyance. Especially because he knew _she_ would seek him out before leaving. The elf, Carmegil, heralded an older age. He had been the Captain of King Oropher's guard since that deceased elven lord had begun rule over the Greenwood, and in fact before. They had been loyal to each other in Doriath. Carmegil, unlike most elves of Mirkwood, was in fact of the Sindar.

"Carmegil!"

The old, silver haired elf sighed and set down his blue-leather book. Rocking back and forth in his favorite rocking chair, the elf was tired of the drama of the Third Age. He was tired of _her_ drama.

"Carmegil!" A youthful elf maiden in battle garments ran over to where he sat outside his little abode in the underground kingdom. "Carmegil, come on! You should fight!"

"Nimwing." He sighed and shook his head at the blonde Silvan warrior. "I don't fight anymore. Those days are behind me."

Nimwing, a young, fiercely loyal and mostly joyous elf maiden, did not feel amused. She knew him better than that. All the stories he told her of the First Age fascinated her endlessly.

"Oh come," she glared. "It'll be like... like the War of Wrath you told me about!"

Carmegil raised an eyebrow at her. "Nimwing, you know not of what you speak. The War of Wrath was not enjoyable, not in the least."

Suddenly another elf swept up. "Carmegil!"

Nimwing bowed deeply as the Elven King Thranduil made his way, in full battle regalia, to the retired elf's abode. Carmegil didn't even bother to stand.

"My old friend," Thranduil nodded. "Why are you not dressed for battle?"

"Because I didn't know I would be fighting," Carmegil sighed.

Thranduil, casting barely a glance upon Nimwing, folded his arms. "You are of able body, and have more experience than anyone in the kingdom. You _will_ fight."

With a heavy and obvious sigh, Carmegil stood and nodded. He turned into his house to find his old armor without bidding goodbye to his king.

"Get going! The orcs will want to see you I'm sure," he called back to the Elven King.

Nimwing nearly gasped at that. It never ceased to amaze her, how rude Carmegil was allowed to be to King Thranduil. Anyone else would've been sent to the dungeons for insubordination.

"Do you not have somewhere to be, warrior?" Thranduil barked at her.

Nimwing nodded, bowed, and scuttled away to join her company. Her captain was a fiercely strict elf of angry countenance. She would do best not to be late, she knew.

Past the throne room and out the fortress doors she sped, stopping only once to fasten her quiver tighter. The carved trees turned into real ones soon enough as she sped outside and across the bridge. Her company was to the left.

"Nimwing!" barked an angry warrior. "Late! As usual!"

"My apologies," she muttered, jumping into place. "I-"

He glared, shutting her up. "I don't want to hear it."

Laswen, the only other female in her company, rolled her eyes at Nimwing's pouting expression. "You _were_ late."

"I was talking to Carmegil!" came her protest back to her companion's remark.

"Not coming?" Laswen surmised.

Nimwing smirked and looked ahead. "Oh he's coming."

As if on cue, an elf taller than most, with hair silver like starlight, strode forward, his large sword at his side. His armor was silver too, made in a different time at a different forge. He went without helm. Behind him came the Elven King with his royal guards.

"Wow," breathed the two maidens.

Carmegil turned to his king. "My orders, lord?"

"Take command of the left flank. I will command the center units, and the Captain will command the right," King Thranduil instructed immediately.

With a nod, the old, tired elf marched off to the left, not even looking surprised as he realized Nimwing was among his troops.

 _And who says the Valar don't have a sense of humor,_ he thought to himself.

With sharpened sword he took command of his troops. They looked on him, some with wonder in their eyes, others with poorly hidden doubt. For none there had seem him in combat. None save Nimwing.

He had trained her once upon a time. Back when female warriors were few and far between. Not that they were any more common now, three hundred years later. For the young Nimwing, training had been hard. He'd taken pity on her.

Now she was the one thing that convinced him to fight, though he'd never tell her that. He marched forward at the Elven King's command, entering the thick of the trees. The scent of death began wafting through the air until it became overwhelming.

The first orc screeches were heard moments later. The elven archers scurried into the trees to attack from above and to take advantage of the height while the swordsmen focused their efforts closer to home.

Carmegil swung his sword and met with the first orc. It was a goblin of Dol Guldor. A detestable creature. It's black blood spurted over his armor.

 _I am too old for this,_ was all he could think. _When this is over I am definitely sailing West._


	2. Chapter 2

_**Still**_ _March 15, 3019_

With a hefty swing, Carmegil decapitated a very large hobgoblin type creature. The black blood squirted towards his face but he managed to duck in time. It was unfortunate for Nimwing who had come up behind him, though. It spewed right into her hair and on her cheek… and in her mouth.

"At least it isn't _your_ blood," Carmegil shrugged as he watched her disgusted look.

She may certainly know how to wield a blade, but Carmegil was rather unimpressed by her ability to hold her _stomach_ as she started to retch. He rolled his eyes and blocked an incoming arrow with his sword. Lucky for Nimwing he was there.

"If you're quite done, we have work to do!" He called out to her as he held off another orc. Far above he heard a bow string twang as the orc in front of him was shot between the eyes.

She stood up and glared daggers at the old elf before her. But in response she tightened her grip on her blade and leapt back into the fray. The flash of her Silvan blonde hair was all he saw as she tore off and assaulted an orc captain.

 _The youth,_ snorted Carmegil. _They all think they're immortal._

With a shake of his head he stabbed behind himself as he heard an orc trying to sneak up behind him. When would orcs stop that pointless trick? It was too easy to see through.

Carmegil moved forward, pressing onwards deeper into the enemy ranks. He cut down orcs left and right, dodging arrows and incoming blades with ease. The forest of Mirkwood wasn't Doriath, but it wasn't _un_ impressive in terms of size and grandeur. It just wasn't… it wasn't Doriath.

When he smelled it ahead, he feared for his safety the first time that day. The scent of smoke, of burning trees and leaves, was unmistakable. He had smelled it before in the sack of Doriath by the sons of Fëanor in King Dior and Queen Nimloth's day.

"They're setting the trees a-blaze! Everyone down!" He screamed the orders in elvish to the archers far above. "Get down!"

He couldn't yet see the inferno, but he could hear it and smell it. Elven archers scrambled to the forest floor upon his orders, thankful their retired captain knew what he was doing.

"To the river! Make your stand beside it." Carmegil shouted again to be sure he was heard.

As he pulled an injured warrior from the ground and pushed him forward, he saw the first signs of smoke. Orcs were burning the trees as they came towards Thranduil's Halls and the Black Mountains. Their hope lay now with the river.

The fighting had gone on for many hours now, but still the orcs came. Carmegil finally reached the river base he had instructed some elves to set up for the wounded. The fire had been halted by some very determined elves of Thranduil's command, but the damage to the forest was immense.

A shout floated on the wind to him. "Carmegil!"

Nimwing ran over to him, terrified. He frowned and wondered what was wrong.

"Speak, child!" he demanded after several moments. "What news do you bring?"

"Nazgûl, sir." She shivered. "The scouts have caught sight on a Nazgûl approaching Thranduil's company."

 _Elbereth Gilthoniel,_ he sighed to himself. _Anything else going to go wrong today?_

"And the King has lost most of his guard." She finished with a frown.

_Of course._

Carmegil nodded. "Well stop standing there with your tongue wagging. Find some warriors and follow me!"

Nimwing rolled her eyes but nodded and sped to some warriors nearby. Within moments, Carmegil had a small posse with him.

 _Time to rescue the Elven King,_ he snorted.

When they reached the burned clearing Nimwing knew the King to be in, they found him fighting the Nazgûl one on one. It was Khamûl, the Easterling. His rotting armor was of that foreign land of Rhûn.

Carmegil turned to his companions, focusing especially on Nimwing. "Do _not_ engage the Nazgûl. Just focus on any orcs."

With that, Carmegil sped forward and swung his sword hard down on Khamûl. His sword was that of ancient elvish make, and he knew it would do damage to the wraith. Thranduil's twin swords would as well, but the Elven King had been fighting for a while already.

"Took you long enough," Thranduil glared at him.

Carmegil snorted. "Glad to see you too, my King."

With a roll of his eyes, the Elven King pushed back from Khamûl fiercely and ducked to the side for a breather, leaving Carmegil to battle their foe.

"One problem!" Carmegil called over to him a moment later. "He's already dead."

Thranduil didn't find that funny at all. As he nursed a deep slash to his arm, he was about to reply when he watched with horror as Khamûl, with some quiet, snide comments, managed to knock over Carmegil.

Thranduil was too slow to save him.

Nimwing was not.

With a heavy swing of her sword, she caught the blow and pushed back the wraith. Carmegil groaned and forced himself up as his apprentice battled the Nazgûl.

"She cannot wound him." Thranduil reminded him as they both watched, nursing their wounds.

Carmegil nodded and sighed. He adjusted his grip on his sword and ran in to assist her. Nimwing was exhausted and quickly bowed out, leaving it to her betters.

"A weak she-elf that one is," sneered the faceless Khamûl.

Carmegil snorted and swung at him again. "That weak she-elf is probably the best student of mine I've ever had."

"Poor students for a poor teacher." Khamûl tried to grab his arm but Carmegil spun away. He looked briefly to his left to check on his King. Thranduil seemed fine. Nimwing and a companion of hers were tending to him as the other elves kept the clearing free of orcs.

He was too slow to jump out of the way completely of a swing from the Nazgûl. The wraith managed to clip his leg slightly between armor pieces.

 _Eru above,_ he glared. _I've helped slay Balrogs. Why is one wraith causing me such trouble?!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Yes, still March 15, 3019_

"My King, if you are quite done!" Carmegil shouted behind himself towards Thranduil. "Help would certainly be appreciated!"

The Elven King rolled his eyes and pushed Nimwing out of the way so he could stand. He whipped his blonde hair out of his face and the leaves beneath his feet crunched loudly.

"My lord, your arm is not-" Nimwing began in protest.

"I am fine!" Thranduil insisted back. He ran into the fight, pushing hard on Khamûl. Between himself and Carmegil, they had hope of holding him off. But they could not kill him. Perhaps…

Carmegil drove his sword deep into the wraith's back as Thranduil distracted him. Khamûl screeched, but it had been but a scratch compared to what was to come. The fires lit by the enemy were closing in.

Carmegil lifted a lit branch and threw it at the Nazgûl. It burned the wraith, forcing him to flee. He never returned; he was someone else's problem now. But they had other things to worry about, like the remaining hundreds of orcs and the incoming flames.

For hours, the former captain of the guard led assault after assault on the orc companies. With Nimwing ever at his side, Carmegil managed to wipe out the majority of the orcs in Mirkwood. Little did they realize how vital their achievement was to greater good of Middle Earth.

For at the same time of this battle, an even greater force had marched on the elves of Lothlorien. Had Mirkwood been destroyed, perhaps all of elvendom would've as well. There was much celebration the next day as the army regrouped.

"Where's the wine," Carmegil demanded of Nimwing.

She raised an eyebrow. "How should I know?"

He rolled his eyes and went to find some. He was thirsty and wanted wine. He also knew one other thing.

_I am definitely sailing West once we finish this off._

**The End!**

**For more Carmegil, see Exploring Westernesse Chapter 9+ (should be up in a day or two as of 3 / 4 / 17)**

**For more Nimwing, see Dreams of Power (eventually as of 3 / 4 / 17).**

**Dedication goes to JRR Tolkien, my hero.**


End file.
